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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25288768">where we gonna go? (i think he knows)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromiftowhen/pseuds/fromiftowhen'>fromiftowhen</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Rookie (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Chenford Week 2020, F/M, First Dates, First Kiss, Flirting, Kissing in the Rain, Rain, Walks On The Beach</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:21:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,741</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25288768</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromiftowhen/pseuds/fromiftowhen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Now, I don’t know what you had planned, but if you ask me, it doesn’t get much better than a California beach date.” </p><p>“This, actually,” he says, quietly enough that she has to turn fully back to him, walking backward in the sand. </p><p>“Hmm?” </p><p>He gestures around them. “Different beach, no rain. But this was my plan,” he says, shrugging. </p><p>OR — Tim and Lucy go on a first date. It doesn’t go exactly as planned. (It goes better.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tim Bradford/Lucy Chen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>189</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Chenford Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>where we gonna go? (i think he knows)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy Chenford week! This is for the date night prompt, and it's a first date, at that. </p><p>Title from I Think He Knows by Taylor Swift. </p><p>I'm fromfitowhen on Tumblr, let's be friends!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It rains on their first date. </p><p>The sky is beautiful from the restaurant overlooking the beach, just tinged dark enough that the candle flickering on their outside table casts a glow over his face, lights up the easy laughter in their conversation. </p><p>Maybe, with anyone else, she’d think it was a bad sign, because it so rarely pours in LA. But they’ve been through gunshots and more car accidents than anyone should experience and airborne contagions and the end of the world and almost the end of hers. </p><p>So it seems fitting, really, that the waiter sets their plates down, Tim smiles at her, Lucy picks up her fork, and then the sky opens up around them. They just stare at each other for a moment, water drenching their clothes and diluting her wine and his whiskey. Around them, people rush for cover, their food abandoned. But Tim’s done very little but talk about this pasta since he picked her up, so she stands quickly and grabs his plate and her wine glass and he follows her inside the restaurant.</p><p>It’s packed, people already waiting for inside reservations and patrons from outside trying to fit in amid the chaos. She watches his face fall slightly, taking it in. Probably not what he’d planned on. </p><p>He’d <em>planned, </em>is the thing that still makes her stomach twist in a silly, teenaged way, even though it’s been almost a week since he’d basically told her they were going on a date. </p><p>(She’d wanted to, of course. But he hadn’t asked a question. He didn’t ask questions he knew the answer to.</p><p>“Have dinner with me.” Quiet, casual, Kojo walking between them on the hiking trail. </p><p>“Yeah, sure, I could eat,” she’d said, not taking her eyes off Kojo’s paws hop-skipping over the grass.</p><p>“No. Friday, have dinner with me.” He’d kept walking, but she’d paused, watching his strong legs carry him up a small incline. </p><p>Thing is, they’d never planned food before. They ate together all the time when she was his rookie, and grabbed quick lunches when cases kept them both around the station after he became a sergeant and she’d become a P2, but there was never a week’s notice. Never an invite. Never the quiet catch to his voice, like he was playing for casual but had his hopes up. </p><p>“I — okay,” she’d said, her brain still catching up. His smile told her it was the right answer, the one he’d planned on.)</p><p>She watches his face fall, maybe imperceptible to anyone who hadn’t spent a year gauging his moods to determine how her day would go. And her stomach twists again, butterflies zig-zagging, because it’s the face of a man who’s disappointed. </p><p>Because when things don’t go how you’d planned, how you’d hoped, you’re disappointed. </p><p>And he’d wanted this to go well. He’d hoped it would go well. </p><p>She glances around, searching for their waiter. </p><p>“Hang here,” she says, handing him his plate and her glass. He starts to protest, but she holds a finger to her lips, her smile coy as she backs away. </p><p>She tracks down their waiter and hands over her credit card, thanks him and takes the card, receipt, and a plastic to-go container back to Tim. </p><p>“C’mon,” she says, opening the container and motioning for him to slide the pasta in. </p><p>“We can wait for a table,” he says, shaking his head. </p><p>“Nah, we have new plans. C’mon, Tim. Pasta. Container.”</p><p>“We have new— yeah, yeah, okay,” he mutters as she raises her eyebrows. He slides the pasta into the waiting container and she snaps the lid on, passing it to him and motioning for her wine glass. </p><p>“Want a sip?” She asks, watching his eyes trail the glass to her lips. </p><p>He shakes his head, but it doesn’t feel like a no as he watches her down the glass, his eyes on her throat. </p><p>“Okay, we can go,” she says, and he just stares. </p><p>“I have to pay,” he tells her, like she’s new here, like she isn’t the best rookie he ever trained, like he thinks she’d dine and dash. </p><p>“Nope,” she says, taking the plate back from him and setting it and the glass down on the bar behind them, smiling at the bartender as he takes them. </p><p>“Lucy—“ he starts, and maybe she could play it out, let him think she wants to Bonnie and Clyde their first date and dine and dash, maybe drive up the coast and knock out a few restaurants in one night, real rogue cop stuff. But he’s always read her too well, too fast, and even though he’s the most fun to tease, she lets him off the hook. </p><p><em>“Tim,” </em>she mimics, smiling as he rolls his eyes. “I already paid. Now, let’s go.”</p><p><em>“You </em>paid?” He asks, and she doesn’t want to get into the macho male ego pride that seeps into his voice, like she couldn’t have possibly paid on their first date. But maybe that’d been part of his plan too — ask her out, choose the perfect restaurant, pick her up, pay for dinner. </p><p>“You can pay next time,” she tosses over her shoulder at him, and the smile on her face now feels permanent. It’s his turn to pause and watch her walk away. </p><p>————-</p><p>There’s a group of people waiting for their cars when they walk out to the valet stand. The covered walkway is crowded, and she admires up close the way the material of his button-down clings to his shoulders, already wet. </p><p>“Mind getting a little more wet?” She asks, glancing between him and the large group. </p><p>He shrugs, and that’s good enough for her. “Go get your keys,” she says, nodding toward the valet stand. “I’ll let <em>you </em>tip the valet,” she adds, because it’s impossible to not tease him when opportunity presents. </p><p>“Gee, thanks,” he mumbles, but it’s sweet, somehow, and he squeezes by her to get his keys. The casual way his hand grazes her hip is so far the biggest tease of the night. </p><p>She watches him talk to the valet, his eyes falling back on her as the guy turns to find his keys. The air is thick, humid with the quick onslaught of rain, and his gaze only makes the air heavier. Anticipation crackles through her like energy in the air before a lightning strike. </p><p>(“I need help. I’m going out with Tim.”</p><p>“You’re going out with Tim? Tim <em>Bradford?” </em>Jackson’s voice had risen comically in question, and she’d just nodded. It felt a little surreal to her, too. </p><p>“Like on a <em>date?” </em>She’d nodded again, but he wasn’t done. </p><p><em>“</em>Like where he walks you to the door and you do the whole glance-away, smile thing you do that he eats up, and you pretend you’ll be fine if he doesn’t kiss you, but it’s really all you can think about?<em> Finally.”</em></p><p>And then she’d needed a moment, because. “Oh, my god. Is Tim going to <em>kiss me?”</em> </p><p>“Oh, for sure,” Jackson nodded, like he was more sure of it than anything else in the world, like it was some obscure cop knowledge he’d known since infancy. “Don’t act like you’d <em>even</em> be mad about it, either.”</p><p>She couldn’t do anything but shake her head. </p><p>“I’m dating a television star and I’d <em>still </em>probably let Tim Bradford get to <em>at least </em>first base on the first date,” he’d said, and she’d laughed, loud and almost giddy, falling back on her bed, potential first date clothes piled around her. Jackson had just laid down next to her, his smile bright and happy, supportive as ever. “Treat yo’self, Lucy Chen. Go <em>get</em> that man.”)</p><p>Tim holds up the keys, and she edges around the crowd to meet him in the middle. The rain is still steady, and she spares a moment’s regret for her hair and the extra time she’d spent curling it just so, worth it for the way his eyes had trailed it down over her shoulders when she’d opened the door. </p><p>“Ready?” He asks, and it feels like he’s asking about more than the rain they’re about to brave. </p><p>She nods, and the rain pricks at her skin, droplets running down the front of her dress as they step off the curb. Around them, couples are dashing from their cover to the safety of their cars. It feels silly, though. They’re already wet. Her paces quickens a little though, just to match Tim’s gait. </p><p>But then he moves into her space, his arm low around her waist, the tiniest hint of hesitation on his face. She’s not used to seeing him hesitate, and those giddy butterflies spark to life again. She tries to keep the grin off her face, fails, and  leans into him, grateful for the security on the slippery road and the warm press of his body against hers. His pace slows, so they’re just strolling, and she barely notices the rain. </p><p>They walk like that, quiet, close together in this brand new way amid the chaos of the parking lot, down to the valet area. They find his truck and he clicks the lock, presses his palm firmly against her back to guide her to the passenger side. He opens the door for her and she smiles up at him. It’s so chivalrous and old-fashioned and perfectly polite, so many new sides to Tim in one small gesture. </p><p>“Thanks,” she whispers. The rain is picking up again, but he smiles back at her, raindrops wicking down his cheeks, skating over his too-seldom seen dimples. </p><p>“‘Course,” he mumbles, watching her like it’s no big deal, like he’d stand in the rain for her anytime. </p><p>She blinks, rain blurring her vision, and in that second he glances away, his hand finally falling away from her. She misses it already, such a new, buzzy feeling she knows she can’t blame on the half-pour of wine she’d gulped down. </p><p>“Letting the rain in, Boot.” It’s the tiniest glance back to almost a year ago now, to his brisk TO voice, and it makes her smile harder than anything else has tonight, maybe. She bites her lip and steps up into the cab, his gaze on her bare legs the whole time. He closes the door behind her and she watches him twirl his keys around his finger as he quickly crosses in front of the truck. </p><p>(“You didn’t have to pick me up,” she’d said, following him into the elevator of her building. </p><p>“I know.” Simple. No arguments accepted. </p><p>“Well, I appreciate it.” She’d smiled, quick and easy like hers always were for him, especially over the last year. </p><p>“You’re taller,” he’d said, his eyes trailing the length of her leg. </p><p>(She’d let Jackson talk her into three inch heels. <em>“Come on, Lucy. Level the playing field, the boy is tall as hell.” “I know, it’s like the fourth hottest thing about him.”)</em></p><p>She’d kicked his foot with the side of her heel. “Leveling the playing field,” she’d said, and maybe it should have been weird to hear that flirty edge catch against her lips in his presence, but he’d smirked, and it felt right. </p><p>He’d nodded, that slow smirk overwhelming. <em>“Oh, </em>are we playing a game?” </p><p>She’d bitten her lip and shook her head, holding his gaze. “No.”</p><p>It wasn’t a game.)</p><p>“So, you said we had plans?” He asks, shutting his door and turning to her. </p><p>She nods. “We do. But first, eat your pasta.” She holds the container out to him, shaking it slightly when he doesn’t immediately take it. </p><p>
  <em>“What?”</em>
</p><p><em>“Please, </em>Tim. I’ve literally never heard you more excited about anything. Pretty sure you’ve dreamt about this pasta.”</p><p>“It’s not <em>that</em> good,” he mumbles, but Lucy knows that tone. He doesn’t want her to know how right she is. He glances at her. “I can eat later, you didn’t save your food.” </p><p>She shakes her head. “Nope. Eat up, buddy. You can make it up to me later.”</p><p>He raises his eyebrows suggestively, and she covers her mouth as a laugh bubbles up. “Good to know where your mind is,” she laughs, “but that’s not what I really meant.”</p><p>“A shame,” he says, and this is the Tim she knows now, the one who flirts with her just until he’s toeing the line. Inviting her to dinner had crossed that line metaphorically, but the idea of actually crossing it, leaning into his space and pressing her wine-sweet lips to his… it’s going to happen, there’s no way Jackson was wrong. She can feel it in the tingle of her skin, the warmth of his hand still somehow lingering. She can see it in the way he’s still just watching her. </p><p>But he had plans. And maybe, maybe she can let him keep that one part of his plan in place. </p><p>“So, I’ll eat if it’ll make you happy,” he says, and the thing they’re maybe doing now, where they do things to make each other happy? She could get used to that. “But there’s a problem.” </p><p>“Hmm?” </p><p>“Am I supposed to eat it with my hands?” He’s looking between her and the pasta, and she smiles. </p><p>“Yes, Tim. That was my whole plan, watching you caveman some pasta. It gets me going. I figured I should tell you now, while it’s still early.” </p><p>He chokes out a laugh and she smiles, watching the way his eyes light up. It’s addicting. He’s still laughing as she reaches in her bag and pulls out a fork, holding it out to him. </p><p>“Did you <em>steal </em>this, Officer Chen?” </p><p>“Depends. Are you asking as Sergeant Bradford, or as my date?” </p><p>“Your date.” His voice is quiet, like the words are new and important and the taste of them on his tongue is unfamiliar. </p><p>“Then, yes. I occasionally steal silverware from restaurants, under dire necessity only. But I always tip <em>really </em>well,” she says, watching him smirk. </p><p>“So many fun new things to learn about you.” He shakes his head. “You could’ve just asked for plastic silverware, you know.”</p><p>“But then you wouldn’t know this fun new thing about me. Plus, plastic, no.”</p><p>“Lucy Chen, secret kleptomaniac. I’ll add it to the list.” He points the fork at her, like he’s emphasizing a point. </p><p>“Dealbreaker?” She’s joking, but she hears the vulnerable edge to her voice. The one that desperately needs it not to be, and who knows it won’t be, but. Still. </p><p>He shakes his head. “Haven’t found one yet,” he says, spearing a little food on the fork as she slowly processes his words. He holds the fork out to her, an offering. “Want the first bite?” </p><p>She licks her lips, and nods when his eyes flick back up to meet hers. “Please.”</p><p>He holds the fork out to her and she takes it, watching his eyes trail her movements as she brings the fork to her lips. The pasta is good, but the way he watches her is better. </p><p>“Good, right?” His voice is rough, like sandpaper to her senses, and she nods, wiping at her lip. </p><p>“Only pasta dish I’ve had that’s actually worth the extra cardio,” he says, taking the fork back from her. Sharing food and utensils should maybe feel a little much for a first date, she assumes. But they’ve eaten a million meals together, she knows his usual order at every coffeeshop and takeout place in town, and he’s stolen more fries off her plates than he’s ever ordered for himself. </p><p>“Ugh, cardio,” she grumbles, and he smirks, probably mentally replaying all the eye rolls she threw at him anytime he told her to run after a suspect. </p><p>“It’s not <em>all</em> bad, you just have to get creative,” he says, his voice dipping low, the timbre heating her rain-cold skin. She watches him take his first bite, his eyes closing slightly, and she’s not at all surprised at how quickly she twists around ideas of just exactly what creative cardio he could have in mind. </p><p>She watches him eat in silence for a few moments, and he smiles slightly around a forkful of food. </p><p>“Something on my face?” His voice is gentle, a tease. </p><p>“Only good things,” she promises. “I was just thinking.”</p><p>He sets the fork down in the container and shifts to face her better, but she shakes her head. “You can keep eating, it’s not a bad thing. Although I can see how you might think that, you and I have had a lot of big conversations in dark cars, now that I think about it, which is actually —“</p><p>“You’re rambling,” he says, eyeing her carefully. “Not that you don’t yammer on <em>and on and on </em>all the time—“</p><p>“Rude,” she cuts in. </p><p><em>“Accurate… </em>Are you nervous?” He’s watching her gently, like it would be totally okay if she was. Like maybe he’d get it. </p><p>She shifts, so she’s facing him fully, her wet legs and dress sliding against the seat. Outside, the rain is beating against the windshield, and the dark cab of his truck feels safe, like a quiet cocoon for just the two of them. </p><p>“Honestly? I thought I might be. That’s what I was thinking about — how I <em>might</em> have been, sitting at that table, in the candlelight, in such a different environment with you? But this — the out of nowhere rain, conversations in the dark in a parked car?” She pauses, watching him. “This? This feels like us.”</p><p>He nods, quiet, and for a moment, she’s afraid he won’t get it, or he’ll be monosyllabic Tim, who she isn’t as used to anymore. “Like something you couldn’t have planned for.”</p><p>He <em>gets </em>it. She’s not sure why she was afraid he wouldn’t. She nods, and she can tell the smile on her face is bright, immediate, by the way his lips quirk slowly into a grin, easy and <em>so </em>good. </p><p>She traces the lines of his smile with her eyes, and he shakes his head, glancing away and out the window. </p><p>“You good?” She asks, letting her fingers brush over the wet fabric of his shirt sleeve. </p><p>He turns back to her, and his smile tells her he’s fine, the look of near-disbelief in his eyes tells her he’s <em>happy. </em>“Yeah, Lucy. I’m good.”</p><p>“Good,” she says, quietly. “Eat,” she urges. She watches him take a bite as she trails a raindrop down the window with her finger. It zigs and zags past her, quicker than she can chase.</p><p>He holds the fork out to her a couple minutes later. “Last bite?” He asks, and she smiles. </p><p>“The last bite is always the perfect bite,” she says. “You sure you want to share?” </p><p>“One-time, first date-only offer,” he says, holding the fork closer to her lips. She smiles and takes the bite, her eyes on his. He swallows, glancing away and clearing his throat as she pulls back. </p><p>“You said we had plans?” He asks, and she smiles.</p><p>—————</p><p><em>“This</em> is your plan?” He asks, turning off the engine as he turns to her a few minutes later and a few miles down the road. </p><p><em>“Yes, </em>come on. It’s barely raining anymore, and we’re already wet,” she says, opening the door. “The beach is basically empty when it rains, it’s the best time.” </p><p>She stands and watches him untie his shoes and shuck his socks, tossing them in the back of the cab, California boy to his core. She follows him with her eyes as he walks around the front of the truck toward her. </p><p>“Here,” she gestures, reaching out and bracing herself with a hand on his shoulder as he gets close enough. She steps out of one heel and then the other, letting her hand linger on the strong, broad muscle as she settles back on her bare feet. </p><p>“Lucy height again,” he says, quirking a smile at her as she tosses the shoes in the truck. </p><p>“A safer height, for sure.” She closes the door and smiles. “I told you, it’s barely raining now.” </p><p>“Meteorologist, adding it to the list,” he smirks. He gestures ahead of him and she starts across the lot to the beach access. </p><p>——-</p><p>“Now, I don’t know what you had planned,” she says a couple minutes later, digging her toes in the sand and glancing back at him, “but if you ask me, it doesn’t get much better than a California beach date.” </p><p>“This, actually,” he says, quietly enough that she has to turn fully back to him, walking backward in the sand. </p><p>“Hmm?” </p><p>He gestures around them. “Different beach, no rain. But this was my plan,” he says, shrugging. </p><p>She grins, knows it’s big and silly. “Great minds.”</p><p>“Guess so,” he says. They walk in silence for a minute. She walks with her feet in the water and smiles as the tide washing back out tickles her skin. It’s one of her favorite places, and she feels like she should have known it would be his, too. </p><p>“Things make more sense at the beach,” she says, watching the way he stops and lets his feet sink into the wet sand just a little before moving again. It’s cute, probably something he’s done at the beach his whole life. </p><p>He nods. “Did you spend a lot of time at the beach growing up?”</p><p>“Not as much as I wanted, but yeah, especially as I got older. Through college and after, I worked at a restaurant, right down there,” she points, the lights of the outside deck just visible. “I’d come out here after work, 1AM, 2AM, and just sit and listen to the waves and think. It’s where I decided to apply to the LAPD.” </p><p>“Yeah? That work out okay for you?”</p><p>She laughs. “I <em>guess? </em>I had this training officer, though, real hardass.” He rolls his eyes and she smiles. “I think it worked out okay, though.”</p><p>“Good,” he says, and it’s quiet again except for the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. “I used to go out and sit on the beach and just listen and watch the sky at night, when I needed space,” he says. </p><p>“Space from what?” It’s quiet, quiet enough he could pretend he didn’t hear it, if he had to, if he wanted to. He’s better about talking than he used to be, but she still wants him to know he has an out whenever he needs it. </p><p>He shrugs, reaching down to pick up a handful of shells. He sifts through them for a moment, and then tosses one out into the water, glancing back at her. “Myself, I guess? Life. When I was in high school, it was a way to get out of the house, away from… whatever.”</p><p>She nods. “I’m glad you had that retreat.” She wants to ask more about what <em>whatever</em> entails, but she knows this isn’t the time.</p><p>She doesn’t expect him to continue, but he skips another shell out onto the water and looks at her again. </p><p>“When I got back from my tours, the beach felt like the only quiet place in the city, but I wasn’t used to having my shoes off in the sand anymore. I mean, it’s different? It’s obviously nothing like the beach, but it took me a long time to be comfortable again.”</p><p>“I can’t imagine,” she says, and her heart breaks a little for the younger version of him, the kid who ran headfirst into a new kind of war to escape the one he was used to, the man who came back changed before he’d had a chance to figure out who he was as an adult. </p><p>“I set out on the beach with Nolan and Jackson, that night you got shot, my first week of training?”</p><p>“Oh, I remember,” he laughs, and it’s such a welcome sound against the crashing waves that she just lets it linger for a moment. </p><p>“I don’t think any of us knew it would be like that. It felt real from the first second, but… nothing like that. Like life or death,” she says. </p><p>“You did a good job that day. With everything, holding your own in that fight, keeping the Isabel stuff to yourself. All of it. I don’t think I ever told you that,” he says, and she smiles.</p><p>“No, you didn’t.”</p><p>He smirks. “Well. You did. Thank you.” It sounds like it takes a lot of effort, and she laughs. </p><p>“For what? Doing my job?”</p><p>He rolls his eyes, but smiles. “Yeah.” He tosses another shell into the water and she watches the strong pitch of his arm, the way the muscles move easily, even under the dress shirt. </p><p>“Isabel and I spent a lot of time at the beach. Our first apartment together was, well. It was two rookie cops' salaries worth, so not great,” he laughs quietly. “After she left, when I didn’t know where she was, I’d go and sit out there at night, and sit so I could see the water on one side and the parking lot on the other, just… hoping she’d show up, I guess. The house felt just like a thing she could leave, but the beach had always felt like a special place, like one she’d be drawn back to even if she wasn’t drawn back to me. Obviously, she never showed up.”</p><p>She takes a deep breath. He always surprises her, when he opens up. “Tim, I’m sorry--”</p><p>“No,” he says, quietly. “Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not sad about it anymore. I just… wanted you to know, I’m happy the beach is a special place for you, that it really means something.” </p><p>She smiles. “Me too. Uh, that it means something to you.” </p><p>He watches her face as she says it, keeps his eyes on her as he tosses the last of his shells out into the water. She wants to kiss him, it’s the only thing she knows for sure. It might even be the perfect moment, in the dark, the only sound the waves. She thinks about wanting the night to go partly the way he planned though, because he <em>planned, </em>so she doesn’t. She just smiles and watches him. </p><p>She thinks, hopes, she’ll get another chance to kiss him in the dark, on the beach, the only sound the waves, and it’ll be perfect then too, even if it’s the millionth kiss and not the first.</p><p>He glances away, for a moment, and she digs her toes in the sand as they stand still. She sinks in slightly, thinks about doing that as a kid and feeling like she’d be stuck forever, thinks about sitting in the sand that night, a long time ago, and feeling stuck and deciding to change that feeling. </p><p>How making the choice to challenge herself and not be stuck led her to the LAPD. To the hardest thing she’d ever done. To the worst thing she’d ever experienced. </p><p>To <em>Tim, </em>who’d been there through all of it, and was looking at her now like he’d be perfectly fine if she stayed standing exactly where she was, sinking into something new, but not stuck, as long as he got to stand next to her. </p><p>“You get quiet and I get nervous,” he says, grinning at her, flirty and teasing and anything but nervous. </p><p>“Just enjoying the view.” And it’s not even a lie. Even if she wasn’t looking at him, she’s surrounded by only good views right now. </p><p>“Yeah, me too,” he says. It’s quiet, and he’s not talking about anything but her, she knows. </p><p>“You bring a lot of girls to the beach <em>for the view?”</em> It’s an innocent, teasing question, but his smirk makes her laugh, long and loud. “Gonna assume that’s a yes,” she laughs. </p><p>“I guess,” he says. “I mean, what else do you do when you’re broke in high school and want privacy?”</p><p>“What <em>exactly</em> did you want privacy for, Tim?”</p><p>He smirks, the look so familiar on his face, the sound so evident in his voice she’s pretty sure she knows it by heart. “I have <em>no idea </em>what you’re talking about,” he laughs. </p><p>“Mhmm,” she says. “Quarterback, <em>killer</em> smile, I’m sure you brought all the girls out here to just <em>talk.”</em></p><p><em>“I’m sorry,” </em>he says. “Are you not having fun <em>talking </em>to me?” He leans into her space a little as they start walking again, the cool water splashing around her ankles. </p><p>“I’ve been on worse dates,” she teases. </p><p>“Oh?” He asks, a challenge in his voice. </p><p>“Right before I started the academy, I went out with this guy I met at the grocery story, which <em>I think</em> is how a lot of crime shows start, by the way, but whatever<em>. </em>He was cute, and he had more in his cart than beer, so it was already a step up from my usual date. Anyway, we go to dinner and he finds out I’m about to join the academy and spends <em>twenty minutes </em>telling me that I’m <em>too pretty </em>to be a cop, which I think he thought was a compliment. And that me being a cop would be <em>entrapment </em>because criminals would think I was a fake cop and would, I don’t know? Commit more crime in my presence? And then he ordered three top shelf bourbons and pretended he’d forgotten his wallet when the bill came, which is whatever, but don’t lie about it.”</p><p>“What a tool,” he laughs, moving closer to walk in the water next to her. </p><p>“So, this is definitely a better date than that,” she finishes. </p><p>“I haven’t gotten to <em>my </em>entrapment speech yet, give it time,” he says, and she just laughs. “Ever been on a date with someone you’ve spent so much time with? It’s nice, not doing the awkward <em>get to know you </em>questions.”</p><p>“You don’t know me <em>that </em>well,” she says, but she’s already afraid she’s wrong. </p><p>“Yeah, okay,” he taunts. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”</p><p>“Okay.” Except, it’s hard to immediately think of anything. She gets distracted watching him for a moment, and it jogs her memory. “Alright. Okay, but it’s actually kind of about you, too.”</p><p>“Even better.”</p><p>“I saw you, before I started at Mid-Wilshire. We took a tour during academy and you were at the desk, processing someone in.”</p><p>“Already teaching you proper procedure,” he says, but she rolls her eyes. </p><p>“I don’t remember all that,” she laughs. “I just thought you were stupid hot.”</p><p>He laughs, a genuinely surprised sound, before his lips shift into a slow smirk. “I should have clarified — tell me something not <em>totally obvious.”</em></p><p>She scoffs and reaches out to playfully shove him, but he’s quick, always ready, grabs her hand gently before she can make contact and laces their fingers together slowly, bringing their hands down to his side. There’s the slightest tinge of nerves in his expression, and it’s ridiculously charming. </p><p>“Okay,” she laughs. “I see, you annoy your date into physical violence and then you make your move.”</p><p><em>“My move?” </em>He sounds offended, but his eyes are bright and he’s smiling like he couldn’t stop if he wanted to. “That’s <em>not </em>my move.”</p><p>She raises her eyebrows at him. </p><p>“That was just a happy accident.” His thumb brushes over her knuckles and she shivers. “You’ll know when I make my <em>move</em>,” he says. </p><p><em>“Oookay,” </em>she teases, looking down the beach. If she keeps looking at him, she’s going to be in trouble. Her eyes catch on a familiar sign and she smiles, turning back to him. </p><p>“Still wanna buy me dinner?” </p><p>“That was the plan, yeah,” he says, and she tugs on his hand, leading him down the beach. </p><p>——-</p><p>“You realize <em>ice cream </em>isn’t dinner, right?” </p><p>“It’s not,” she agrees. “It’s <em>better.”</em></p><p>He laughs as they settle into deck chairs outside the ice cream shop, their feet in the sand. “Just means I get another shot to buy you <em>actual </em>dinner, right?”</p><p>She watches him push the spoon around in his ice cream, the way he can’t quite look at her while he waits for her answer. “Yeah, Tim. I think that can be arranged.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p><em>“Coffee </em>ice cream, really?” She wrinkles her nose, and he smiles. </p><p>“I’m sorry, <em>you’re </em>putting down something coffee related?”</p><p>“Okay, but coffee is a <em>life force, </em>it’s not a dessert. It’s the ice cream my 80-year-old grandfather chooses.”</p><p>“Sounds like a cool guy,” he says simply, making a point to take a big spoonful as she watches. </p><p>“Yeah, you and my octogenarian grandpa would have a <em>lot</em> in common,” she jokes. </p><p>“I know you think that’s an insult, but I’m taking it as a compliment.” </p><p>“You would,” she rolls her eyes. It’s <em>easy, </em>it’s so natural, it feels impossible that it’s the first time they’ve done this. </p><p>“You never actually told me something I don’t know about you,” he says. “You finding me, what was it? <em>Stupid hot? </em>Is a given. I mean,” he gestures to his chest with his spoon and she laughs. </p><p><em>“So cocky,” </em>she grins. She takes a bite of ice cream and stares out over the water, the dark horizon endless and inspiring and intimidating, all at once. “Okay. When I was little, I used to think that we were the only ones with the beach, like not even just California, but LA, like it was our own private paradise, some big secret.” </p><p>He smiles as she continues. “My cousins came to visit from the east coast one year, and I was so excited to show them our secret place. And I remember being just, heartbroken at six when I found out it wasn’t some big secret.” </p><p>He shakes his head. <em>“God, </em>you are really bad at this. I’ve known you were geographically challenged since day one, it’s not a surprise.” </p><p>She laughs, and his eyes are bright in the dark, teasing. <em>“Rude. </em>I eventually got back in the shop, didn’t i?” </p><p><em>“Eventually.” </em>He shakes his head, like he’s back in that day, like he can’t believe they’re here, on this day. “I don’t think you were wrong though. It can still be <em>special, </em>a secret<em>, </em>especially when the right people know about it.” </p><p>She smiles. “Yeah?”</p><p>He nods. “Yeah.” </p><p>Above them, the sky rumbles, a clap of thunder loud enough that it causes them both to jump, surprised out of their quiet bubble. </p><p>“Guess you’re not a very good meteorologist,” he laughs, and she’s about to respond when she feels the first rain drop, quickly followed by another, once, twice more against her just-dry dress. </p><p>It’s <em>pouring </em>suddenly, and all she can do is laugh, and they’re just staring at each other again, just like before. There’s no point in looking for shelter now, so she just stays seated, her eyes on him.  </p><p>He looks up into the downpour, and when he looks back at her, the raindrops running down his face make her smile automatically. They make him look a little disheveled, so unlike the normally impeccable Tim she’s used to. She watches a raindrop track down his cheek, over the corner of his mouth, and she wants to trace it with her eyes, her fingers, her lips. </p><p>It’s loud, rain falling around them, and he has to almost shout to be heard. “Should we just call this a draw and try again next time?”</p><p>It’s the <em>next time </em>that gets her, the slight clip in his voice as he asks it, because it’s already a guarantee, and they both know it. </p><p>She shakes her head, and he gives her a quizzical look. “I’m sorry this didn’t go the way you planned,” she says, and he shrugs, like it’s no big deal. But it is, because he’d <em>planned, </em>and it still means something to her. “But the date’s not over yet.”</p><p>“Okay,” he says, watching her. He’s looking at her with an expression she knows all too well, almost like a test, a challenge. </p><p>“I still don’t know what your move is,” she grins, biting her lip and glancing away quickly as surprise flashes across his features.</p><p>He smirks, “That’s <em>your </em>move, clearly, the flirty little glance away.” </p><p>She shrugs, smiling. “That depends. Did it work?”</p><p>He shrugs a shoulder, so stubborn, but the way he won’t quite meet her eyes tells her, yes, it absolutely did. </p><p>“I didn’t get to tell you something that you don’t already know about me,” he says, and she glances around them. The rain is still pouring down around them, but it feels peaceful, private, like their own little secret. </p><p>She’s  not sure she’ll ever be totally dry again, she feels so water-logged. But she’ll listen to whatever he wants to share, because it wasn’t all too long ago that he wasn’t a sharer, at all. </p><p>“I like plans, and order, and rules,” he says, and she immediately rolls her eyes.</p><p><em>“Tim, </em>I lived with your <em>rules</em> and your <em>order</em> for a year, <em>no one </em>knows that better than I do.” </p><p>He shakes his head and holds a finger up to her lips to quiet her. It’s <em>exasperating, </em>and it’s sexy, and she’s torn between yelling at him and leaning in closer.</p><p>“I like to know what’s going to happen, and what to expect. But sometimes, life doesn’t go how it should, or how you hope it will, or <em>it rains, </em>and you have to adapt.” He moves to the edge of his seat, so their knees are touching, the wet fabric of his pants pressing against her water slick skin. </p><p>She shivers, and she has no clue if it’s from the rain or not. </p><p>“And what you might not know about me, because I’m sure you’d say I’m <em>stubborn, </em>is that I actually also love it when things don’t go as planned<em>, </em>or when there’s no plan at all. It’s when I do my best work.” </p><p>“Okay,” she whispers. She’d tell him that’s exactly why he excels as a cop, his quick thinking, his adaptability, but she wants him to keep talking. She feels like she’s hanging on his every word, on his next breath. </p><p>His fingers tracing the water droplets on her knee surprise a small gasp out of her, and he’s smirking as he looks back up at her. “So I could sit here and tell you that I had a plan, that I knew what my move would be. How I’d hold your hand, and walk you to your door and back you up against the wall, and lean in just out of reach, just long enough, that you’d <em>have </em>to lean in and meet me halfway, or…” </p><p><em>“Or?” </em>It’s barely a noise, a gasp, and she’s not even sure he can hear it over the rain. </p><p>His fingers skate up her thigh, just brushing the fabric where it’s bunched a little higher than normal. <em>“Or,</em>” he whispers, “I could tell you that I had no plan, because there’s no way I could have planned for something as good as you.” </p><p>The breath she’d been holding shudders out of her, and he’s smiling, smirking as he leans in, his lips just a fraction away from hers. He brushes his lips over hers quickly, the <em>biggest tease, </em>and then pulls back just enough that she has to follow him to press her lips against his, slowly, rain sliding down their cheeks. </p><p>He finally leans in fully, one hand on her thigh and the other cupped around the back of her neck, his fingers in her tangled, wet hair. He kisses her for real, <em>finally, </em>and it’s not how she pictured it happening, not at all. </p><p>It’s <em>better, </em>because it’s real and it’s <em>Tim, </em>who’s smiling against her lips again, his thumb stroking the back of her neck, his fingers drawing nonsense in the raindrops on her thigh. </p><p>She pulls back enough to get words out, even though she doesn’t ever want him to stop kissing her. “Your <em>real </em>move is the fingers on the knee thing, right? Because it’s distractingly good,” she says, and he just laughs. </p><p><em>“Shhh,” </em>he whispers. “You’ll find out. You can <em>plan</em> on it.” He leans back in, and she meets him halfway. </p><p>So, it didn’t go to plan. <em>At all. </em>The rain beats down around them, and they might float away if they stay out here much longer. </p><p>But she has no plans to move. </p><p>When he brushes his lips against hers again, she knows he doesn't mind. </p><p>He might even like it. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! As always, comments and kudos are appreciated!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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